Let Your Love Be the Death Of Me
by comet80
Summary: All Kenny McCormick wanted was his life to have a meaning.  Something like in the fairy tales he used to read as a child.  When it happens, how far will he go to defend that new life?SLASH.Chapter fic.
1. Chapter 1

_**Let Your Love Be The Death Of Me**_

_"I will do anything for love, but I won't do that."_

_- "I'll Do Anything For Love" Meat Loaf_

_**Before I begin, this is a little something I thought up. It will all be in the point of view of Kenny McCormick. As of a pairing, I am currently unsure. Either a Kenny/Stan or Kenny/Cartman. Most likely the first one. However, my stories sometimes take unpredictable twists.**_

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**_"And Snow White married Prince Charming and lived happily ever after. The End."_

_"Mom?"_

_"Yes Kenny?"_

_"Can we read another one tomorrow?"_

_"Sure thing Ken--"_

"Kenny! _**Kenny**_Kenny, _**dammit**_wake up or you'll be late for school!"

Getting myself out of bed, I sighed. Typical morning at my house. No wonder I had dreams like I did. Both my parents hated the living piss out of me. I wasn't the oldest, so I had nothing "special" to bring to my parents, and I wasn't the youngest, or female, so I couldn't be the one "spoiled" one, like my little sister. I was just Kenny. The one in the family who made us more poor by over expensive medical bills. I was just that one that died every day, that is up until middle school.

After the fifth grade ended, I stopped dying. No one knows how or why, but I believe it's because Satan and God just got tired of seeing me _all_ the time. Every day I would die and go to heaven or hell. If it were a good day, then I would go to heaven, bad days I got sent to hell. Some day's I just floated around, going nowhere.

After I stopped dying, I became the boy that just existed. My parents then found the need to make me their target. If the warm water was cold, I'd get yelled at to make it warm. If Kevin was sick, I'd be the one who'd have to stay home to take care of him. No one noticed me when I was dead, and no one noticed me when I was alive. No one hardly noticed me at all. That is, except my friends.

Friends. Ha, friends my ass. Being friends with the guy's I'm friends with isn't an accomplishment. Some time's it's worth it. Not all the time. Stan and Kyle are cool, but my "best friend" is a bitch. He always has been, and probably always will be. He's self-centered, and annoying, and has to have his way. No one likes him.

And I mean _no one_. He's the fattest asshole you'll ever meet in the little town of South Park. Standing at about 5'5" he's the shortest one of us, and the biggest. He's the guy in line at the movies that doesn't need the extra large tub of popcorn, or any for that matter,and his mom spoils him rotten.

He gets whatever he wants. And I mean _what ever_. He's already got some of the most high tech cellphones, game systems, and other appliances. All is used for about five months or so, then a new one comes, and he gets it. Then he rubs it in our faces. Mainly Kyle's.

Kyle's the one of us that is neutral. I sometimes like him,and sometimes not. He's my friend, but at times he can get to be as obnoxious as Cartman. If that's even possible. He's never really self centered, but he doesn't exactly help others,unless they need it. He's got a jewfro,that makes him many inches taller than everyone else,and no matter what you do to it, it never moves. It reminds me Jello. Thats what me and Stan called him for a few weeks back in the seventh grade. We never told Cartman tho, because we were afraid he'd seriously eat Kyle's hair, thinking it was a new exotic flavor, just as he once thought my ashes were chocolate milk mix.

Kyle's really smart. He's in all advanced classes, and already in trig,and took algebra one in the seventh grade. He likes to use his "fancy" vocabulary words a lot, you know, those ones that are fifteen letters long,but mean a word as simple as "nice". We made him stop tho, when he hung around with us, because it was getting annoying hearing him talk like he was in English class all the time. He also gets really clingy when he's around Stan.

Stan's the least selfish of us all. He's really active, and pretty popular. He used to coach a few peewee teams, and he used to do a lot of sports. He doesn't do sports much anymore, because he's too busy being involved with the school. He's class president, and he runs a lot of the community service type clubs. Around fifth grade, he became somewhat of a vegetarian, but he never would join P.E.T.A., because they are insane. He only eats meat if he has no choice, but if he had a choice he wouldn't.

Stan always gets on my ass about how I don't _do_ anything. But hey, what can you expect from a guy who's considered a jock. Even though he understands that I can't _do_ any school sports because that costs money, which my family doesn't have.

My family is dirt poor. We don't have heat, or air conditioner, and sometimes we don't have water. We can only afford frozen waffles to eat, which is usually our dinner. If I get dinner that night. Like I said, my parents don't notice me very much, and they hate the piss out of me, so a lot of the times, _my_ waffles, go to my little sister, or Kevin. I don't mind though, because I'd rather steel food from my friends, than bother eating around my family of assholes.

I made my way out of my bedroom—if you could even call it that. Its really just a small room, the size of those rich Hollywood walk-in-closets, with a few mattresses and blankets, to make a bed, that I can't even hide my dad's old outdated Playboy's under.

I ignored my mother's request asking me to be 'good' and walked out to the bus stop. It's the place I've waited for the school bus since well...forever.

I take my usual place at the end, while listening to Eric, and Kyle argue about the same usual thing.

" I'm telling you, Jews _can't _be athletic. They don't have any hand-eye coordination."

"Says who?"

"Says everyone, Jew-boy. Jew's lack athletic ability"

"Then what's your excuse?"

"_I _don't _need _to exercise. _I'm _perfectly healthy."

Kyle and Stan just laughed.

I would have, but I didn't want to be smacked upside the head at the moment.

And this makes the day seem more of the same, typical day, of my useless, usual, life in South Park.

I wish for a change. I wish for my life to be different, like in the fairy tale stories I read when I was younger. I want something drastic to happen. Something more than Kyle straighting his unruled Jew-fro and abandoning his hat, or Stan breaking up with Wendy for the thirty-fourth time in seven years. Something new, something exciting.

Not oh-my-god-Eric-lost-one-hundred-and-fifty-pounds drastic. Just something new.

I want my life to be different. **I want my life to have a meaning.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Much love to all reviewers, and I know this chapter is short, but the last sentence, seemed like it would fit as the ending chapter sentence.**_

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_**CHAPTER 2**_

Crap.

Sitting on the bus, I just remembered that we had this oral presentation in our English class. It was supposed to be about our life, or whatever, and had to be a minium of three minutes, and a maximum of five.

English was my first period of the day, so I didn't have much time. The bus ride was about half an hour away, seeing as we went to school in a town just next to Denver. South Park could only afford to create a Elementary/Middle school(which due to the smallness of the town was combined into one).

Everyone in West Park High, thought, well _knew_ everyone from South Park were stupid, retarded, hicks. I hate to admit, but half the time they are right.

Our town obsesses over the littlest things. It'd be too much detail to go over everything stupid our town has done, so for the sake of it, I'm not going to mention anything.

Getting back to English class, well arriving into English class, I took my usual seat. The stupid bitch makes us sit boy-girl and alphabetically. Which would be fun, if any of my friends were in my class.

In the class I'm with a bunch of kids who don't live in South Park, or have never heard of it. (No one outside of Colorado has, unless they have relatives outside of this shit-town.) Once again, the teacher doesn't really like me because I'm a distraction. She would be too if she had no water, and only a few pairs of good underwear, and one coat.

"Kenneth" She says to me in a matter-of-fact tone. Did I ever mention how much I hate being called 'Kenneth'? No one, not even my_ parents, _call me Kenneth unless their filling out some sort of application. Mainly fourms dealing with the 'loss' of me.

My parents were on crack naming me. 'Kenneth Malcolm'. No doubt they were on crack.

"Kenneth" She repeats again, getting slightly angrier. "Please take your hood off, and put your parka away in your locker."

She tries to say it without any hint of anger. But I, and the rest of the assholes in the class, know she's pissed at me.

She stares at me, as I pull off my parka. "Kenneth, is that the only shirt..Uhm, it is a _shirt_ right?"

"No shit, shirlock" I mutter under my breath sarcastically.

"Excuse me?"

"Of course it's a shirt. It's called an _under shirt_ You know, shirts that go _under_ clothes."

She sighed. "If you don't have any approipate clothing, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to put your parka back on." She replies as if me being parkaless was the problem in the first place.

"..'kay" I rolled my eyes pulling my parka back on, hood and all.

"Kenneth, your hood."

"Oh, fuck you" I mutter again.

"_Excuse me?"_

"Ducks are cool." I say with an almost innocent smile.

She gives me a glare as I pull off my hood, my shaggy blonde hair falling over my eyes and around my shoulders. The girls are giggling seeing me hoodless, and the guys are laughing at how 'girly' I look.

I absoultly love and hate my hair. Love it, because its the thing—besides my parka, that makes me..well me. Hate it, because its just a blob of tangled mess that can't do _anything_ because I'm too poor.

I doodle on my scratch piece of paper as I hear the teacher and I swear she's grinning, and called my name.

"I believe Kenneth has volunteered."

"I have? I didn't see my hand raised."

She takes an asprin, and sighs. "Yes, you _have_ volunteered to go **first.**"

"Nah, that was just your imagin-"

She interupts me. "Detention, McCormick, for the rest of the week."

Oh, who gives a fuck now. "All I was saying is, I _didn't_ **volunteer** and you _didn't_ **follow** **your** _alphabetical system_. Therefore, I didn't volunteer, and don't have to go first."

I already know she's pisser than pissed, and I don't care, knowing whats in store.

"Principal, McCormick, now."

"All I was-"

"Principal, McCormick, now"

"As I was say-"

"Principal, McCormick, _now."_

We're both annoyed with each other at this point, but now its more of a 'who will win' battle. I flip her my middle finger, as she turned red.

"Principal, McCormick,**now**!"

The class aplauds as I grab my books and leave, marching proudly to the principals.


End file.
